


After the Breaking Tide

by Cymbelines



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Adultery, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Pining, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9589526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cymbelines/pseuds/Cymbelines
Summary: A week had passed since John Silver fell into the sea and, though Flint had thought himself accustomed to loss, the pain of Silver’s death revealed a bottomlessness to anguish, an inexhaustible suffering that robbed Flint of any desire to carry on as before. Then, a miracle: John Silver returned. He was mangled, weak, but very much alive, and the sight of him wrapped in Madi's relieved embrace incited a cruel and ugly feeling James Flint couldn't bring himself to name.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xJuniperx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xJuniperx/gifts).



> I began this story before season four actually began- let's just call this canon non-complaint. please forgive any discrepancies from canon now that the first two episodes have aired.

"He’s mourning me even now. / He’s imagining me eating away at someone else’s light" - Olena Kalytiak Davis

It had all gone so horrifically wrong. _The Walrus_ did not survive her skirmish against Woodes Rogers: unrelenting cannon-fire had decimated the ship and the violent tide, too briefly incarnadined with the blood of the fallen, claimed the lives of a quarter of the crew. They abandoned ship a moment too late- a blast had hurtled John Silver into the depths, his false leg too truncated in the wreckage to resist the ocean’s tug. He was gone- too quickly, too easily lost when those about him needed him most.

Flint’s first instinct had been to dive into the water after him. He pulled off his coat and took a deep, shaking breath, but the battle raged on. The responsibility Flint had as captain and steward of his crew stayed his hand- if there was anything to be salvaged, he would need to act quickly and Flint knew Silver would’ve prioritized the crew's lives over his own without a moment’s thought. So Flint assumed responsibility over his men almost mechanically, securing their escape with glazed efficiency. Rackham and Teach dealt with him cautiously, making quick arrangement to secure Flint a night’s seclusion when all was said and done. It was only then, in the secreted darkness of the morning hour, that Flint’s numbness thawed away into something truly unbearable. He had thought himself so accustomed to loss but the pain of Silver’s death revealed a bottomlessness to anguish, an inexhaustible suffering that robbed Flint of any desire to carry on as before.

Madi Scott seemed wholly unwilling to accept Silver was gone and, scarcely a week later, the universe conspired to validate her disbelief: John Silver was found on a neighboring coast- mangled, thinner, and injured but _alive_. Course was set immediately to find him and their ship found its moorings by the evening hour.

The moment Flint laid eyes on Silver’s form, even from a distance, felt like a dream, as surreal and all-engrossing as every vision he’d had of Miranda Barlow after her passing. On the sandy shores of the island’s docks, Silver had scarcely taken a few broken strides towards them before the crew crowded about him and Madi, for all her usual composure, rushed to his arms without a second thought. But Flint, however strangely, felt himself anchored to where he stood, a few long strides away from the maddening crowd. He should’ve said something, done something perhaps- in a vastly different world, perhaps Flint could’ve rushed to his side with the same tenacity that Scott’s daughter had. But no- no, the issue lied in something much more difficult to name. Flint had never known what it was like to have life regard him with such a miraculous show of mercy- to have the world take from him and then have the sympathy to _give back_. His heart was pounding as he looked to Silver, returned from the depths- his stomach churning, his throat clutching shut so that every word he wished to say withered in his throat. He didn’t know what to do with his hands besides rolling them into fists at his sides.

Flint watched on as Silver broke away from Madi’s embrace and, remembering himself, extended his focus to those about him with a warm, affirming smile. Only then had Flint become aware of the painful tension in his jaw. Whatever Silver spoke to the crew- his voice hoarse, his manner light and reassuring- seemed far-away and difficult to hear. Flint felt himself flooded with the inexplicable desire to monopolize Silver’s attentions, to intrude and disrupt this reunion and exclude everyone from a sacred moment that should’ve been exclusively reserved for him alone.

Then, Silver’s eyes found Flint’s own. They looked to one another without a word, something strange and almost melancholic behind Silver’s impossibly blue eyes that Flint sensed must’ve reflected some turmoil of his own. Gritting his teeth to the point of pain, Flint turned his back and walked away. Whatever they would’ve spoken to one another was disallowed now, too tender to lay plain to those around them, too much like a bruise to let anybody touch.

* * *

The day had passed over easily into a smooth and quiet night, but Flint and his quartermaster had still barely spoken a word to one another. There had been a shared and efficient discussion between them and Teach’s party, a practical and unanimous decision that allowed them to secure another, smaller ship and set course to Maroon Island to replenish supplies and manpower. But, Flint ached for an honest conversation with Silver and that was entirely disallowed in the company of others. There had simply been no private moment to spare between them. Flint knew no one was to blame for the covert nature of their relationship and the secrecy such a bond demanded of them. He knew, too, that every hour that went wasted between them only aggravated his already terrible mood, that disappointment and dejection had soured into something like an unreasonable, foolish anger. Worst of all, this aggression went barely repressed and everyone had taken to avoiding him by consequence, as if drawing away from an animal that, having felt himself cornered, was ready to strike.

Still, Flint decided against spending the the remaining hours of the night alone in his cabin, poring over exhausted records with tired eyes. He stepped out of his quarters, met with the rush of a cool, salted breeze as he opened the door. Flint’s eyes instinctively scanned the ship for a familiar mess of dark hair and then he saw him- or rather, saw _them_.  

He was immediately startled by how close Silver and Madi stood together, their forms shadowed with a pointed familiarity they never quite extended to anyone else. Flint couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he didn’t have to. He knew Silver well enough to recognize when he was delivering a story, his manner easy and light as Madi nodded, wholly absorbed.

It shouldn’t have bothered him- the relationship between Silver and Madi was no secret and there was nothing particularly scandalous about a private conversation on a quiet night. But there was something too pointed in the way Madi leaned into the conversation, something shockingly sincere in the way Silver’s face lit up with mirth. Flint watched as Silver leaned forward, murmuring something into the scant space between them, and felt an inexhaustible irritation at the look of them as they laughed.

As if supernaturally compelled by the pang in Flint’s chest, Silver’s eyes rose to find Flint’s own. He blinked once, twice, caught unawares until surprise melted into a bright-eyed smile. Flint immediately felt a compulsive need to bend, to break, to claim- to stalk across the ship and reach for the dark material of Silver’s collar and twist it until it tore, to make a fist in his hair, to kiss him hard on the mouth and knock Silver off center.

Then, Flint became humiliatingly aware of himself. How must he have looked, watching them with useless obviousness, standing so foolishly out of place? Flint envied Madi for the liberties she could enjoy with the man they jointly loved. He struggled to suppress the bitter desire to deny her, to make her feel as disjointed and awkward as he felt now. Silver was still looking to him and Madi’s focus soon followed, her eyes wide until they fell on Flint. Her lips pressed together in a thin frown.

Flint’s eyes dropped and he mumbled some excuse, speaking however uselessly against the knot in his own throat. He didn’t know where he would go, he only knew that he needed to leave- that he felt himself burning with the guilt of someone who had been found out, as if all the cruel jealousy that ran through his blood had been lain plain before Silver and Madi both. He walked away quickly and, if Silver’s uneven steps thudded behind him, Flint carried on as though he hadn’t heard them.

* * *

Ultimately, Flint found little work to distract himself with and the cold, night air did little to ease his mood. He knew he was being ridiculous, that he was sulking with all the foolish indignation as a child put out for having to share something they were certain to get back. When Flint returned to his cabin much later, Silver was there and, though he must’ve been waiting for quite some time, he seemed strangely unfazed.

They both looked to one another for a few loaded moments, and then Silver smiled, his expression strange. “Have I offended you somehow?” he asked, his voice low but amicable. “I thought you would’ve been the first to speak to me since my return- I’ve begun to wonder if I should take your behavior personally.”

“You seemed preoccupied,” Flint unthinkingly replied.

Something in Silver’s expression change. “Because I was speaking to Madi?”

Flint frowned, irritated by his own bitterness. “Do you honestly believe I care about _that_ ?” he asked, because it was easier to lie and condescend than to confess to something so vulnerable and trite. Flint knew he was being unfair and he detested himself for it. He knew the clipped tone of his voice, this play at nonchalance, bothered Silver- he could _see_ it. Silver wore hurt so honestly when they were alone together like this. So Flint spoke again, trying to remedy his mistake. “We haven’t had a moment alone together. I didn’t trust myself to speak to you unless I could do so honestly, without fear of being watched.”

“We’re alone right now,” Silver said, inviting conversation. When Flint didn’t take the bait, he frowned. “Have we nothing to say to one another, then?”

“What is there to say? I don’t-” Flint spoke. A long moment passed between them, all silent but the low hum of the sea. “I don’t have the words for this, John. I thought you died,” He took a step forward, feeling as though he were treading on ice. “Christ, I thought I _lost_ you-”

They found one another quickly, so that the words they found so difficult to speak melted into an embrace. Flint pressed his face into the junction of Silver’s neck, shutting his eyes tight enough to see stars, relishing in the familiar scent of him with a shaking breath. His mouth found the pulse of Silver’s vein and he kissed there, grateful for the drum of his heartbeat- grateful to feel him _alive_ and whole and returned to Flint’s arms at last. Then Silver framed his face with both hands and pulled him back so he could look to him. His eyes were hazy, fixed over Flint’s mouth before they rose up to his eyes, as deep and blue as the sea even now, even in the darkness.

“Did you really think it’d be that easy?” Silver asked. He leaned forward to lessen the space between their lips. “No, James- I won’t be taken from you. I won’t leave you. You’re stuck with me.”

It was so simple then, despite all the turmoil and the tension of hours passed. Only Silver could incite such a softness in Flint, making him as pliable as clay in his hands, and he had Flint exactly where he wanted him; the first touch of his mouth was gentle and warm, a promise of more. Flint’s lips parted beneath Silver’s own and they took dizzy, blind steps in the dark until the captain found himself pressed against the wall. They kissed and kissed, each touch slurring with growing desperation, and Flint sighed, despite himself, overcome by every sensation that came with this- the feeling of Silver’s hair against his face as they kissed, the solidity of his chest, the warmth of his every touch.

A sharp knock came at the door and Flint tensed, realizing only then that the door had been left unlocked. “Captain,” said the voice- one of Madi's men, Flint recognized, even from the haze of what had just barely begun. “Is the quartermaster with you?”

Before Flint could answer, Silver rose his voice. “Yes, I’m here. “

“You're needed,” said the stranger..

“Just give me a moment,” Silver said. Something must’ve broken through Flint’s attempt to mask his vexation, because Silver looked to him and laughed. “God, what’s that look for? They’re _asking_ for me.”

“Let them wait,” Flint replied. “They’ve crowded you without end today and they were absolutely insufferable when you were gone- you’ve let them grow far too dependent on you.”

Silver laughed. “Come on, there’s no harm in it. I’m their quartermaster- if they don’t need me, I’m out of a job.”

“So you jump at their call? They’re not children, Silver, they’re grown men- _our_ men.” 

Flint felt the muscles of his jaw pull impossibly tighter as he watched Silver work through some strange, indecipherable thought.“I know what you’re doing,” he spoke, his tone careful. “I know when you’re trying to rile me against you. But you don’t mean that, you’ve never spited me for my relationship with this crew. Have I angered you somehow?”

Flint looked away, feeling torn in two. Instinct bid him to deny Silver’s suspicions, to ease away the tension between them with a soft, dismissing word. But more than that, Flint wanted to take hold of him so tightly it’d hurt; he wanted to drink deep of the chasm of longing and sentiment between them and confess to Silver that he had needs, too, and they inspired a vulnerability that scared him and it was unfair that Silver could ignite such a desperation in him and leave him in wanting.

Something in Silver’s expression grew softer, as if sympathetic. “Not anger then,” Silver said, bringing his hand to cup at Flint’s cheek, his thumb passing softly at the scar at his cheekbone, a habit of his when they were alone and allowed small acts of affection. “No, not anger- something else. And you won’t spoke to me of it, will you?”

Flint leaned into the touch and, catching Silver’s gaze, shook his head no. When Silver began to draw away from him, Flint stayed Silver’s hand, willing him to wait. “Does it hurt?” Flint asked, his eyes dropping to their feet, to Silver’s false leg. His voice had gone quieted and low, the way it always did when he broached the sensitive subject of Silver’s disability.

Silver shook his head, drawing close to the captain once more and, though Flint thought he’d meant to kiss him, he pressed his forehead against Flint’s own instead. And when Silver closed his eyes, his eyelashes dark against the sunburned skin of his cheeks, Flint imagined the strain that capture had placed on his quartermaster's body- the unrelenting scorch of the sun, the burn of sand against the wounds of Silver’s damaged leg.

  
“No. No, I’m alright now,” Silver said, his voice just a whisper. Flint hummed. He looked at John Silver for a long time, drinking in every detail of his calm and tired face as if for the very first time. He realized then that the influence Silver had on him was mutually held: that, together, the familiar sting of pain was dulled into the very backdrop of thought and rendered bearable, as if what they felt for each other took up so much room there was hardly any space left for hurting.

* * *

Though Flint would not come to feel as though he’d slept at all, it had been the first night since Silver’s near-drowning that the captain fell into a long, uninterrupted sleep. When he staggered out of his cot, the sun had just begun to rise, washing the world outside of the cabin’s small glass windows in soft light.

Above, the deck was fully-manned but silent with the natural drowsiness of dawn and the current that carried them to Maroon Island was smooth. Flint spent a long while looking out onto the sea, trying to navigate through the turmoil that churned within. It was relatively simple: Silver’s near-death and the loss of _The Walrus_ marked two detrimental failures by Flint’s hand. Madi’s outspoken refusal to believe Silver lost and their current return to Maroon Island only marked her victories.

If Madi only wore her flaws more obviously, perhaps the sheer ugliness of Flint’s feelings against her would have felt more reconcilable. But, in truth, Flint recognized that the young woman had inherited all the grace and character of her parentage and that the bitterness he felt at the sight of her was sorely unwarranted. It wasn’t right to spite her for the relationship she enjoyed with his quartermaster-. How could Madi Scott have known that in loving John Silver she was inadvertently laying claim on the only companion Flint had left in the world?

Flint had always known, the way primordial things are always known, that Madi would grow to love him and that Silver would come to love her in turn. It had been a loss that Flint had not only resigned himself to, but one that he intended to suffer through in silence. What Flint hadn’t expected was for John Silver to fix his gaze on _him_ in dual measure: after they spoke on Dufresne’ death, it had happened so easily, so naturally that Flint found himself at a loss as to why it hadn’t ever happened before. They had always orbited one another- they had always looked to one another in want of something: money, power, control. But that night, with the adrenaline of something dark and terrible still rushing through Silver’s veins, they unearthed something that encompassed all they had ever been to one another.

Perhaps he should've been wiser than to willingly step into a mess such as this, but James Flint had gone so long without tenderness that Silver’s every caress felt more magnified than anything he had ever known. They became familiar with each other so quickly, so intimately that even then, looking out onto the sea, Flint could close his eyes and imagine with clarity the broad stretch of Silver’s shoulder, the curve of his waist, all the hard planes of his body and soft, wanton sounds of pleasuring him. And more than that, there was a softness between them- in each other’s company, they smiled. If only for a few hours, they relieved each other of the tension they carried within, discarding anguish and solemnity with their clothing. Around each other they laughed aloud- once so ardently that Flint watched Silver wipe tears from his eyes, his face all bright with the warmth of a beautiful smile, and Flint felt himself _doomed,_ absolutely condemned to worship and adore this man till his very last breath.

Flint couldn’t give that up. He wouldn’t survive the ache of its loss. So, Flint worked to make due with his circumstance- he would never ask Silver to choose between them. He would never ask Silver to disavow her. The balancing act that Silver played between his two lovers went unspoken, though not unacknowledged. Every now and then, Silver spoke of her to him when they were together, as if she were some fond and familiar friend to them both. And sometimes, when Flint felt himself more like the man Thomas and Miranda had loved and less like the man he was now, it didn't ache too terribly to listen.

* * *

Madi pursed her lips, looking to Silver with narrowed eyes. She was trying to be stern with him, but Flint recognized the amusement she imperfectly repressed in her expression.“Here,” she said, her voice harder than her expression. “It’ll make the medicine easier to swallow.”

Silver wrinkled his nose. Despite open reluctance, he mechanically brought the pitch-black bark of cocoa to his mouth. Flint watched as Silver diligently chewed, his bright eyes focused on the chattering crowd around them. They were all seated in a dining hall, the crew and the islanders intermixed amongst rows of long tables and chairs. Maroon Island paid no heed to English customs of hierarchy or rank- the people ate in the same hall with their leaders, demonstrating no difference in regard between sovereign and friend except that Madi Scott and her peers- in this case, Silver and Flint- were situated at the centermost tables and given a respectable measure of space.

“Are you absolutely certain this was meant to help?” Silver asked, his voice hoarse. He drank deep of the medicines in his cup, clearing his throat as if the taste of it burned. “Christ, this is _tar._ I swear, these medicines will kill me long before my leg does.”

“Oh, stop that- how war is waged by a man who becomes so _infantile_ over a medicine, I will never understand,” Madi said, turning to Flint with an exasperated smile. He knew she was trying to be amicable- it was a touch forced, still laced with reservation, but he appreciated her attempt all the same.

“That’s why _I'm_ the one waging war,” he offered, trying to play his part. “That Silver supports me in this endeavor is a mitigating detail.”

Silver made a wordless sound of surprise. “Your quartermaster is nothing more than a mitigating detail? That was truly scathing. Captain, to think I mean so little to you- I’m _sickly_. Have some mercy on the afflicted and the lame.”

The word caught when he heard it. _Your quartermaster_. “You’re insufferable,” Flint said, his voice lacking any real sharpness. “You’re sickly and lame now that you’re putting on theatrics but when our ship is being blasted to hell, there’s no reasoning with you.”

Silver laughed, an honest, beautiful thing, and leaned back in his seat. The edges of his mouth were soft and round and the sight of him like this, so easy and open with humor, rumbled in Flint’s chest. “Now, imagine how dreadful it would be if I started makings things easy for you.”

“I imagine that every single day of my life,” Flint spoke and even to his own ears, his voice was too warm, too obviously fond. Flint knew better than to leave his words so unguarded but even the curve of a smile he knew not to show felt impossible to repress.

And then Flint caught Madi’s gaze: brows furrowed, mouth downturned, as if she were seeing the men beside her through a different light. Like extinguishing a flame, the warmth was gone. The smile on Flint’s face disappeared, the tension in his form returned to construct the image of propriety and detachment. Flint turned away without as much as another word, worrying he had played his own hand. Worrying, worst of all, that playing disinterested was as good as an admission of guilt.

Eventually, food was served, dishes lined out on every table in a seemingly endless parade. Stews, bowls of rice, and meats unlike anything Flint was used to. Madi stood once the table was set and the loud clamor of the room immediately hushed: her voice clear and measured, she paid respects to those lost and dedicated the lavishness of this dinner with the crew and her people as an act of appreciation for life.

It all tasted rich and filling, but Flint felt himself unsettled and dissatisfied. Madi occasionally turned her focus to him and, by no fault of hers, conversation was short-winded. He recognized the precise moment when something in her expression changed, so that the usual reserved silence she extended to him returned between them- the end of conversation. And he could feel Silver watching him all the while, but Flint kept his eyes downcast, busying himself with the task of eating.

It was the sound of Silver’s voice that shook Flint from his thoughts a little while later. “What did she say to you?” he asked, leaning towards Madi. Something about the way he looked at her made Flint feel as though Silver already knew the answer to his question and that slick, teasing hint in his manner irritated him. “It's not often that I see you so out of sorts. She must've surprised you.”

Madi sputtered, her face flushed. “She’s just a girl, barely fourteen- she doesn't know what she speaks. Nevermind it.”

“Come now, tell me,” Silver insisted. Flint followed the direction of Silver’s focus: a young girl who was filling Madi’s cup. The girl spoke foreign words in a hushed voice, apologetic embarrassment obvious in her form.

“She think you’re my husband,” Madi said at last, signaling to the table. “Do you see that dish there? It's a meal that is shared by spouses. We simply can't accept it- it would give the wrong idea, if not to your people then to mine.”

“Well, I don't see why we need to let it go to waste. It looks perfectly fine to me,” Silver said, giving the food a casual glance. Flint watched the way he leaned forward, a few strands of dark hair spilling from his shoulder. And from where Flint sat across from him, he could see the very dip of the fabric of Silver’s shirt, the skin of his bare chest where the shirt hung loose as he bent so slightly down. And then Silver’s eyes rose, his gaze locking inevitably with Flint’s own. Beneath the table, Silver’s knee grazed his own. “And you’ll have some, too, of course.”

Madi’s eyebrows rose, breathing a laugh at the sheer absurdity she found in such a suggestion. Flint gave her a discreet glance, reading the hint of something more in her expression- sardonicism, he thought, or the muted hint of offense. And beneath the table, out of her view, Silver’s knee swept over Flint’s again. For a moment, Flint looked to Silver sharply, unsure if he wanted to kiss him or shove him away entirely.

Madi voiced some refusal to eat and rose to apologize to the well-meaning girl, Flint heard her only partly, as if from a fog. He watched as Silver’s hand dipped into the plate instead, his fingers digging into a small piece of pulled meat, his eyes downcast as if he didn’t know Flint was watching him while he brought the food to his mouth, the juice of it dripping down his fingers. Silver’s lips parted over the food, his teeth a line of white under such familiar lips, the hint of his tongue there and then gone, _missed_ , as Silver chewed and swallowed. Flint frowned. He felt the tension in his jaw as Silver’s good foot teased at his own, the toe of his boot running slowly over Flint’s shoe. And it was so intentional and so slippery of him, to make this public play at Flint in a way no one would notice, that when Silver’s eyes finally found Flint’s own again, it was too much.

Like being drenched in a shock of cold water, it was all too much to bear. It was an accumulation of things- the surge of awful heat in Flint’s center, the frustration of knowing Silver was playing a game with him, the sinking feeling that it was more than just this moment, this food, these absurd, stolen touches where no one could see. It upset him. For the first time in a very long time, Flint wished he could find the resolve and the cruelty to hate Silver because he had made himself too _important_ to Flint, too vital to the very foundation of Flint’s wants and desires, and it was all bound to unravel. The inevitable forward progress of life would tear Silver away from him. Madi would tire of amicability. The war would make its claims. If Flint even survived the battles that were to come, he’d be left with a life on the margins of their new empire and what could he offer Silver that Scott’s daughter could not? The bite of that fear made Flint want to rush against Silver, to kiss him or to push him away for good- to make some mark on him, like a bruise of violence or possession, so that Flint had tangible evidence of his impact on the man before him.

“James, I-” Silver began to speak, reaching across the table for Flint’s hand, curled into a fist. Flint pulled away, evading touch, gritting his teeth to the point of pain. He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in the process, and the room hushed again, all eyes turned to them in wait of an outburst.

Flint stalked out of the dining hall and into the open wilderness blindly, paying no mind to direction or destination- his mind was filled with static and his chest felt tight, as if his lungs had been mangled, so that each breath came out shallow. He marched through the mess of trees and greenery until the pounding in his head eased. Then, alone and exhausted, Flint grimaced, leaning defeatedly against the firm, cracked trunk of a tree. Branches and fluttering leaves canopied overhead, casting a soothing shade.

The sun had already begun to set when Flint began walking back and, scarcely had a few minutes passed before he saw John Silver from a distance. His back was turned to Flint, his attention set on the work of scanning the horizon before him. He was only a few long strides away and completely unaware. Flint watched on, transported to the moment of their reunion on the beach. They were completely alone this time, but the space between them still felt like an expanse Flint could not cross. He took a single, unthinking step back. A branch cracked under his heel.

Following the sound, Silver turned to Flint. Their eyes met. Silver released a breath, tension visibly easing from his form, and Flint mirrored him, releasing a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Flint thought of the beach again, except Silver wasn’t masking his intent this time: he rushed to Flint and, compelled by feeling alone, Flint met him halfway. Silver’s arms were around him in an instant, solid and warm. He buried his face in Flint’s neck.

“Fuck,” he sighed. The feel of Silver’s breath against his skin made Flint run cold. “I was looking for you, I thought- God, I don’t even know _what_ I thought. You didn’t have to leave.” Silver pulled away from Flint, bracing him by the shoulders and looking him dead in the eyes. “James, if I upset you, you didn’t have to leave. You shouldn’t have.”

Flint’s eyes dropped momentarily, inevitably, to Silver’s mouth, then the floor. He wanted to apologize, but didn’t have the language to do so. Wracked with emotions Flint couldn’t possibly explain, he could _feel_ Silver’s stare. “You didn’t upset me.”

Silver brought a hand to Flint’s neck, his fingers digging soothingly into the muscle there. “No, I _know_ I did. I shouldn’t have pressed you that way- I know your history, I know the fears you harbor over all that you’ve lost, and I challenged your boundaries all the same. I shouldn’t have touched you as I did. I thought no one would notice and no one did, but I never considered what anxieties it would’ve triggered in you.”

Flint felt absolutely stunned. He must’ve worn it too openly, because Silver was frowning at him now and the soothing work of his hand had stuttered and stopped. “You actually believe,” Flint began, incredulity thick in his voice,“that I ran out of that room because I didn’t want you touching me?”

The question hung in the air, making it evident that Silver, who was always so good at peering right into the depths of the feared and enigmatic captain, truly believed what he said. Flint took a step closer to Silver, his fingers just grazing over the hem of Silver’s shirt before resting at his hip. “ _You_ didn’t upset me, don’t you understand? I’ve barely had a single moment with you. All I've wanted to do since the moment you fell into that goddamned sea is hold onto you and not let go, but I can’t do that, John. I can’t do that when you’re constantly in the company of someone else. If we hadn’t been amongst the crew, if we hadn’t been sitting right beside-” _Madi_ , Flint almost said, before halting over the word.

But it was too late. The implication was clear and something changed in Silver’s face, as if he were mulling over a question and had only just now come to an answer. “That's what this has all been about. You’re _jealous_ ,” Silver said, not even trying to curb his surprise. He looked absolutely enthralled by the idea, his eyes bright, his mouth pulled into a wolfish grin.

Flint scoffed, rolling his eyes and letting his hands slip entirely from Silver’s body so that he could feign detachment. He tried to turn from Silver, ready to walk back to the village, but an iron-grip found his wrist. When Flint steadied, Silver laced their fingers together, stepping into his space and coaxing him to stay. “Even yesterday, when I left to help the crew,” Silver continued, his voice low. “I knew it was unlike you to get so defensive about it, but I couldn't quite place what was wrong. You weren’t upset _at me_ , you were upset you had to share.”

“You're going really fucking far with this, Silver,” Flint said. It was strange now to call him by his surname when they were alone, but it was a habit that surfaced when Flint was agitated against him. “ _Sharing_ you? I’m not some spoiled child. I’m not jealous of you.”

Silver smiled. “Of course you aren’t. Because you know you have nothing to worry about, don't you? The time I spend with them- that's our work. Our crew mean a great deal to me, but I'm not _fucking_ them. And you know that, don’t you? You know there’s no one I bend to but you.”

Flint stared hard at Silver then, his eyes falling inevitably to Silver’s mouth. “Now, that's a good look on you,” Silver persisted. “I _was_ going too far, wasn’t I? You aren’t jealous. You have no reason to be. What I have with you, what I do with you, that's different. No one can give me what you give me, James. No one knows me as you do."

Silver took a small step forward. Silver was crowding him, guiding him so that Flint’s back found the rough solidity of a tree-trunk. Flint scanned their settings half-mindedly. They were alone. Yards and yards of empty forest for as far as the eye could see. A small voice in Flint told him to push Silver away, to recognize and consider the potential dangers in this- but, christ, the man knew just what to say. And perhaps this was just another game between them both, words as passing and trespassed as air, but Silver always seemed to know exactly what Flint needed to hear.  
  
Silver’s left hand found Flint’s shoulder and pressed it against the solidity behind him. The bark scratched at the material of Flint’s shirt and it was discomforting, but Silver’s fingers fisted around the material of Flint’s clothing like a vice. His right hand found Flint’s neck, squeezing there before dipping down to graze over the warm skin of Flint’s sternum. His palm was going flat against his chest and Flint wondered, hazily, if Silver could feel the breath caught in his chest.

“I haven’t given you my undivided attention, but you must know there hasn’t been a waking moment that I haven’t imagined you - that I imagined having _this-”_ Silver paused, his hand finding anchor over the hem of Flint’s trousers, “every night I went without you.”

Before Flint could respond, Silver pulled him forward and kissed him fiercely. Flint felt the breath knocked out of his chest, but he kissed him again and again, as if something in him had breached and flooded forwarded; Flint felt _wanted_ by Silver. He had been starving for his affection for so long and now that he finally had it, Flint knew he couldn’t let go. They rocked against one another, tension rising between them, and somewhere in the heat of that embrace, they slumped to the ground beneath them. Silver didn’t give Flint much chance to move- they were a mess of limbs and desperation, sprawled out along the grass like youths, but Flint didn’t have the mind to challenge him.

Flint could hear his already labored breaths as Silver crawled over him. He shifted down against Flint’s body deliberately, grinding against where Flint’s cock was already hardening and straining against his clothing. He could feel that Silver was already hard, too, and somewhere between that realization and the friction of Silver’s quickening ruts, Flint let out an utterly broken sound.

Silver looked up at him pointedly and Flint suddenly felt aware of himself, all labored breaths and restlessness. Flint watched as Silver worried at his bottom lip, an unmistakable look of hunger on his face as he shifted over him, working at Flint’s belt, breaching the waistband of his trousers before roughly tugging them down. Silver fit himself between Flint’s thighs quickly, as if he were desperate and dying for it, as if it wasn’t Flint who was gasping madly, his hands carding desperately through Silver’s hair.

Two hands anchored on each jut of Flint’s hips, pinning him down. Silver’s mouth was a long tease across the sensitive skin of Flint’s thighs, parted and damp with the hint of his tongue as he mouthed down- kissing at him, nipping at him, a line of teeth just edging across skin as if Silver were tempted to bite down into the muscle there.

“I went a week without you,” Silver spoke. He kneaded at Flint’s hips, raking his nails across the skin there lightly, watching as his fingers left lines of pink across pale, freckled skin in their wake. “Christ, a week without _this_ and all the while I kept thinking, what if I never saw you again? If I never touched you again, James, what would become of me? I need you more than I can bear. ”

“John,” Flint breathed, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded even to his own ears. “Oh, fuck, _please_ .” The plead echoed inside of him, resounding against the words he left unsaid: P _lease, your mouth, your touch; please, anything you’ll give only me._ Then, unthinkingly, Flint said, “show me- show me how much you need me.”

Only then did Silver take him into his mouth, sounding with a muffled groan at the taste of him. Flint gasped, feeling like he’d been dealt a blow. He grasped roughly at Silver’s scalp, needing something to hold onto for purchase as Silver ran his tongue across the raised curve of his length, before swallowing thickly to take him deep. Flint took in a stuttering breath, willing himself to watch as Silver’s hair spilled over his navel, his body moving with the work of his mouth.

It was dangerous, what they were doing- even through the haze of such sought after pleasure, the thought loomed at the very recess of Flint’s mind, but he couldn’t mute the sounds that were coming out of his mouth. He sighed Silver’s name like a prayer, his voice breaking with a moan as Silver’s lips drew tight over the head of his cock, pulling a fistful of hair tight as Silver opened his mouth wider, taking more of him in.

It pushed Flint to curve up, thrusting his cock deeper into Silver’s mouth, motioning to fuck his mouth in tandem with Silver’s heightening pace. The low, nearly muted sound of Silver moaning around him was unmistakable. Silver liked this- he wanted it just as much as Flint did. Silver worked at him in earnest now, his motions stuttering when he took Flint unbearably deep. He swallowed hard in spite of it. Flint felt his legs almost trembling, the impact of it rolling down to the very curl of his toes.

“Look at me,” Flint sighed, kneading at his scalp. Silver made a small, keening noise. After a moment’s hesitation, Silver obeyed, pulling off of him with deliberate delay and wet, audible pop. When their eyes met, Flint drank in the sight of him- his face was flushed, his hair a beautiful and disheveled frame against his face. Silver’s eyes, always so impossibly blue, were now blown dark with wanting and his lips were pink and full with the work of what he’d done.

Flint braced himself forward with one arm, sitting up just enough to cup Silver’s face in his hand. “I wish you could see the picture you make, John- looking starved for this, looking so fucking desperate,” he said. He ran the flat of his thumb over the line of Silver’s lips, feeling the slick dampness there, watching as they parted beneath his touch.

“Please,” Silver rasped, his voice shot. “Fuck, let me have you-”

“Not yet,” Flint said. He pressed at the swell of his partner’s bottom lip with his finger one final time before his hand slipped down between his legs. Meeting his gaze, Silver shifted from between Flint’s knees, bending to where where Flint was holding his own cock, giving it a few non-committal strokes. A loaded silence stretched between them as Flint brought his cock to Silver’s mouth, brushing the head, flushed and wet, across his lips.

Then, almost whispering, Flint spoke again. “Tell me what you want.”

Silver parted his lips, looking almost dazed as Flint teased him all the more. “I want you,” he said. His breath was a cool shock over Flint’s skin, his lips damp and soft and tempting, pressed against Flint’s cock. “I want you to fuck my mouth. I want to feel you, James- god, _I need you_.”

“You need me,” Flint echoed. It felt delicious to say. “I'm the only one who can do this for you, John. You’re so good at this- sucking me off like you were fucking born for this, and I’m the only who’ll ever know, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Silver sighed, sounding positively desperate. “Yes, only you. Please, James, I don’t want this with anyone else but you- I’m not _like this_ with anyone but you. I need you. _Please_.”

Doubt haunted the darkest corner of Flint’s mind, reminding Flint of the woman they both left behind on the other side of this small and forested island. But sincerity was so thick in Silver’s voice, so raw and unadulterated, and the look in his eyes robbed Flint of breath. “Open your mouth for me,” he said, pressing against Silver’s waiting mouth.  
  
Silver immediately swallowed him down. Flint groaned, his hand finding the crown of Silver’s head and holding him, guiding him, as he moved, thrusting into his mouth. Flint was close already, but it was each blissed out sound Silver was making that pushed him further, as if this act were more of a pleasure for Silver than Flint. It was the wide stretch of his shoulders between Flint’s knees, pushing them into a wide splay, too- it was the feel of Silver’s beard, rough and burning, against the very inside of Flint’s thighs as he swallowed him down to the hilt.

Silver shifted, as if he could sense that this was almost over. Slipping his hands underneath Flint’s thighs, Silver pushed Flint deeper into his mouth. Flint pulled out then, almost completely, before pushing back in with intent and holding still there- letting Silver shudder and sound, his jaw slacking, his breath labored. Flint lost pace, lost himself almost entirely, fucking into his mouth again and again. Flint could hear the broken, devastated sounds slipping out of his own mouth. He could hear the way his voice pitched at every cry of Silver’s name. And then he was overcome entirely, spilling down Silver’s throat, shuddering violently as Silver sucked hard against him all the same, swallowing it all down.  

When Flint pulled out of his mouth, Silver climbed forward, all but caging Flint with the frame of his body as he bent to kiss him. Silver’s lips were wet against Flint’s own, faintly bitter to taste, and the hazy slur of their kisses was interrupted by their shared, heaving breaths.  
  
He returned to Silver’s words, playing them over in his head- _I need you. Only you. I need you._ Breathing in deep, he turned his face from his partner, denying him a kiss. Silver leaned in again, trying to find Flint’s mouth with his own, but Flint took him by his shoulders. He turned them both, rolling them over, pressing Silver’s back into the grass. He took a long look at Silver: his flushed face, his bright and watery eyes, and every rise and fall of his chest.

“I thought I lost you,” Flint whispered. “Right when I needed you more than ever, I thought you were gone to me forever.”

He watched Silver’s expression shift from surprise to something else entirely, something warmer but painful and harder to name. “I’m not lost, I'm right where I need to be- I'm here with you.”

A sharp ache rose in Flint’s throat. A stinging pain spread from the bridge of his nose onto his eyes. He bent down to kiss Silver at last, unsurprised when Silver’s cheeks felt wet against Flint’s own. He pressed their hips together with intention, knowing Silver must have been aching without having achieved his own release. When Flint’s hands found the hem of Silver’s pants and pulled down, they were trembling.

* * *

Silver was staying in a humble house on a hill, its walls soft with moss and its ceiling garbled and slant. Flint had last seen him in the forest. They had agreed to return to the village separately and tend to their work without each other’s company. It had been Silver who had proposed the separation and it seemed like a sort of amends to the recklessness they had enjoyed just moments before. When a stray thought arose in Flint’s mind, the cruel suspicion that Silver had divided himself from Flint for the sole purpose of being with Scott’s daughter instead, Flint reminded himself that it was Silver, too, who had asked Flint to come by his lodgings by nightfall.

Darkness fell like a veil over the island, suffusing the air with sullen anticipation. Flint finished the last of his responsibilities hastily, trying to dull the irritation that had simmered to a boil when Billy had, for the third time since Silver’s loss, tested the boundaries of his self-control. Flint returned to his lodgings, hoping to calm down. Once there, he became aware of himself-  his clothing was stained with grass, his nails brown with earth and, perhaps stupidly, every mark of of their tryst in the woods filled him with fondness. He changed into fresh clothing, washed as best he could, and set to unite with Silver as he had promised.

It was only in walking to Silver’s house that Flint realized the actual measure of distance between them. Their lodgings had been assigned to them and it didn’t escape him that Silver’s place neighbored Madi’s own. Flint remembered the awe in Silver’s voice: _You’re jealous_ . He had denied it then, but Flint knew there was little use lying to Silver. They had glossed over that ugly truth with teasing and touch, but Flint felt its presence all the same, like a vice that hadn’t been expelled from within him. He _was_ jealous. He was insufferably, cruelly jealous and the feeling twisted his stomach, it ached in his chest, it mangled and hurt him with every step closer to where Silver waited.

Silver’s house and Madi’s own were alit with a soft, golden light, like the distant wicks of candlelight over a sea of black. Flint wondered why they feigned separation at all- it was obvious to everyone that they were together in every way that mattered. Flint frowned, diverting his focus to his steps in the dark. He couldn’t help but wonder if Silver had touched Madi immediately after they separated, with the exhaustion and glow of what he and Flint had done together still apparent in his gait and his countenance.

Silver had told him to enter the house through the back. Flint found the entrance with little struggle: an overgrown garden surrounded the backdoor, vines spilling over an old wooden door. After a moment’s reluctance, he opened the door covertly and then stilled. It was Madi’s voice he heard, clear as a bell, coming from deeper inside the house. Flint immediately thought to leave, his heart running cold, but his single step backwards creaked against wooden floors. He halted, hoping he hadn't been noticed. He held his breath in the dark, advancing just enough to hide him from sight.

“You cannot tell me you don't know what I mean,” Madi spoke. “There had been no dealing with him when you were gone. I understand mourning but that isn’t what I saw in him, he was _reckless_. I thought his behavior would ease with your return but what he did earlier, how he behaved in front of everyone- surely you understand how this appears to me.”

Flint bit at the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain of it would curb the indignation burning inside of him. He wanted nothing more than to rush out the room, but silence stretched through the house, making movement risky.

“John, please just _look_ at me,” she said again. Flint heard the unmistakable shuffle of Silver’s paces, the sound of his crutch sounding dully with each step. “Do I offend you so terribly that you can’t even acknowledge when I speak to you? Am I supposed to be satisfied with your silence?”

Silver paced across the room. Flint could see him, now, but his back was turned to where Flint hid outside of the room they occupied. The candlelight in the room was lit against his form, casting his shadow and, faintly, Madi’s own. “We have had this conversation too many times,” Silver spoke slowly, as if measuring his words. “If he has done anything to offend your people, I will stand between them and make things right, but you know I won’t divide myself from him.”

Madi let out an audible breath. “You always do this.” Her voice sounded pained, concentrated with a concern that was undeniably sincere. “You never acknowledge that he has faults and that there are real consequences when we are made to feel the brunt of them.”

“And you always do _this_ ,” he snapped. “You oversimplify matters you don’t entirely understand.”

“I _understand_ he made grave mistakes,” Madi’s voice was heated now, her offense apparent. “He led an attack on faulty information and we all paid a blood price for it. I know you don’t want to be anything but his equal and I am not advocating for his dismissal, John, I’m not. But it would serve to our best interest if he stop carrying on as though he can wage this war alone. You are fighting in this as am I and as are the men I have known since childhood and watched die on his ship.”

An ugly silence arose between them. Madi crossed the room, entering Flint’s line of vision. She stood at Silver’s back, a hand to his shoulder. “You say I oversimplify things,” she spoke again. “But why must matters be complicated? Your captain is a troubled man and you are vulnerable to his influence- you cannot see clearly in any matter that involves him.”

Silver shook her hand off, turning around to face her. Flint reacted to the sight of him, of the troubled and pained look on his face. “I cannot see clearly- why, because I fail to agree with you? I didn't know you had an exclusive claim to the truth, but clearly you think me incapable of coming to rational conclusions of my own.”

“Now who's oversimplifying matters?” Madi replied. “I know there is a camaraderie between you both, but something about him troubles me in a way I cannot express.” Flint could hear her reaching for the right words. She lowered her voice, but Flint heard her all the same, sharp and honest. “I know men like him- proud men, vicious men who would let the world burn for their ambitions. You don’t have to hitch your fate to him, John. I can be your anchor. The world can be your anchor. But this man will drown you-”

“Enough,” Silver warned.

“What is to happen when he no longer adheres by your word or when he decides to ignore your good opinion, as he has done with his crew? What happens when you lose whatever authority you have over him? How do you know he doesn't already see you as another expendable casualty to his war?”

“Madi, he is my _friend-_ ”

“Then why did he let you fall?” Flint’s heart stammered, then dropped. He saw as Silver responded viscerally to her words, turning to her as if he had been struck. “He could have gone into the water after you and he didn't. You were gone to us for a week, John, and he made no effort to save you from the harm you endured in those days. He did not send anyone in search for you. He did not speak to anyone of your loss. He's scarcely even spoken to you since your return! Where in this am I supposed to see the friendship you speak of? Where in this am I supposed to believe he felt any real loss at your death?”

“ _Enough_.” Silver gripped her by her arms, his voice low and severe. “If you love me at all, you’ll stop. You haven't the slightest idea what you're arguing and you will not speak for him- you do not know him, Madi, do you understand? You do not know him as I do.”

“And in what manner, praytell, do you _know_ him?” Madi spoke, shaking off his touch.

Flint looked to Silver, his chest tight to the point of bursting. He had bitten at his cheek again, hard, enough that the taste of copper lingered in his mouth. Silver squared Madi’s look, seeming angrier than Flint had seen him in a long while. “I don't need to explain that to you.”

“I want to hear you say it,” Madi said and her tone was strange and sharp, resonating in all the animosity Flint felt against her- jealousy Flint recognized, as plain and venomous as his own. “If I am ever to be your wife, you will look me in the eyes and tell me exactly what he is to you so that I may know what I am in turn.”

Flint felt sick with shock. _Wife_ , he thought dizzily. His _wife_. He took a step back and then another, feeling as if he were running out of air and then Silver looked up, staring immediately into the darkness where Flint was hidden.

“You need to leave,” Silver said. And Flint knew that he was speaking to Madi, even as he turned his back to them. He _knew_ that it was her Silver was rejecting and pushing away with such cold detachment, but it was Flint, instead, who obeyed the commandment.

* * *

Silver found him in the garden, his form shadowed and still in the dark. When Silver stood beside him, close enough for their shoulders to touch, Flint didn't turn to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke. The lightness in his voice was too forced, pointing to the frustration that Silver failed to conceal. “She wasn’t supposed to be here. You shouldn't have heard any of that.”

“You never told her,” Flint said. He was interrupting, but his voice was soft and his focus far-away, as if he had never really heard Silver speaking at all. “In all the time you and I have been together, she never knew.”

“She knew enough. She had always suspected, just as others have. She needn’t be explained anything, she was only trying to- god, I don't know, she was trying to upset me, I can't pretend to entirely understand.”

Flint frowned. “You’re so often antagonized between us both, are you?”

Silver’s eyes fell to the ground. “What she said about you then- you can't believe that to be her true opinion of you. She's under strain- For the first time in her life, she has everything to lose. She thinks she stands to lose me, too, and with what nearly happened to me-”

“You aren't only hers to lose,” Flint said then, his anger finally bursting to surface. He readied to move away from him, to force some distance between them for their own safety, but Silver’s hand reached for his wrist. Flint smacked his hand away, trying to evade him again, but Silver caught him, both his hands clasped around Flint’s wrists like iron. Flint felt his heart stuttering wildly, felt a deafening pounding in his ears.

“ _You're everything to me_ ,” Flint said. “You’re all that I have now and I keep losing you and it’s going to kill me. You’re going to be the end of me just as you said, John, and I should’ve fucking known better-”

“I’m right here,” Silver spoke and then because he always saw into Flint too clearly and recognized what was working into an anguish before his eyes, “you haven’t lost me, James. I’m here, I’m yours.”

Flint took a breath, his focus falling to Silver’s hands around his own. He looked to him, really looked at him, and the light caught in Silver’s impossibly blue eyes, the shape of his mouth beautiful and soft in the moonlight. Silver’s brow was creased with concern and a small, honest part of Flint wanted to frame his face and smooth the worry away with his hands. “I abandoned our route for you,” he spoke instead. “I diverted from course and pushed the pursuit of our goal to the wayside. I held onto life when every night separated from you tempted me against it and I did it, all of it, for you. I _know_ I should have gone after you- the moment you fell, all I could think was to follow. But, everything was going wrong. I watched the window I had to save you shut before my eyes- it was scarcely a moment’s delay, but I knew it was too late. I failed to save you, but I'll be damned if you stand convinced I didn't suffer your loss.”

Silver looked as though he wanted to say something, but he leaned into the space between them and kissed him instead. It was a chaste kiss at first and it occupied all the pain between them that they had left unsaid. But then it led to another kiss and another and the sound of Silver’s breath, the noise of kissing him, was sweet in the dark.

“You aren't just hers to lose,” Flint repeated after they broke apart. His voice was low, almost dangerous, and he could see that it took Silver by surprise, but there was no negotiating with all his enviousness now. “Because you’re mine, do you understand?”

Silver looked to him, his eyes round, his face flush even in the moonlight that rendered everything blue. He leaned in, smoothing a hand up Flint’s chest to find his throat and then, leaning in to whisper against the shell of his ear said, “show me.”

* * *

 It was easy now, as it always had been, to fall into bed together and though Flint had once resolved to never ask Silver for more than he could give, he now felt overwhelmed by all he needed. He needed Silver like this, splayed out across the bed and perfectly undressed, breathing as hard as Flint was breathing, needing just as desperately to be touched. Flint didn’t know anymore if there was a way of being with Silver without wanting to claim him, without wanting to disallow anyone else from knowing his scars or his laughter or the beautiful expanse of his body. Perhaps this was simply how it would always be for James Flint: he'd always drink deeply of whatever Silver would give him and he’d always long for more.

But, whatever the struggle, they were together now and Flint’s arms bracketed each side of Silver’s body so that he was on top of him. Silver made a beautiful sound as they kissed, wrapping one arm about Flint’s neck to pull him closer, and using his free hand to tug uselessly at Flint’s clothing. “You're still dressed,” Silver sighed, keening at the sensation of Flint’s thigh between his legs, “I want to see you- want to touch you.”

Flint rose, disrobing with none of the slow deliberation he had extended to Silver only moments before. He caught Silver openly staring and, returning to bed, ran a hand demurely down the muscled plane of his stomach. John Silver looked absolutely beautiful this way- dark curls loose and disheveled about his flushed and hungry face. Every line of Silver’s body bespoke of solidity and tone and all that beautiful, bare skin was cast golden by the candlelight in the room except for where hair peppered darkly across his chest, at his navel, further down. It amazed Flint that Silver could look to his form and only see what it was lacking; it absolutely maddened him that Silver was presently looking to him as if _he_ were the one worthy of awe.

“Come here,” Silver spoke, his voice soft. The bed dipped as Flint resettled into it and touched Silver’s thigh, pleased when Silver spread his legs just enough to accommodate Flint’s sitting between them.

Silver yielded to him easily, his arms around Flint’s neck as he slotted on top of Silver to kiss him, his good leg enclosing Flint’s hips to his own. They were touching chest against chest, legs entangled, hips pushed together so that Flint ground against him over and over, grazing where Silver was already hard with slow, aimless titillation. The sheer feeling of bare contact was enough to earn a sharp sigh from Silver beneath, his breath pitching wonderfully into a shaking gasp. Flint knew that, in a different time, they could find their pleasure like this, with the slow drag of contact, with rutting and shifting to find friction that sparks electric, but right now Flint needed to have him more fiercely, to dig his fingers into the solidity of Silver’s body, to take and mark and claim.

“Fuck,” Silver breathed as Flint thrusted against him more sharply, their languid motions turning into a more heated, frantic mimic of what they both wanted. “I still feel what you did to me today. Felt it all the hours I went without you, but I want- god, I feel like I’ve just been waiting, wanting more-”

Flint ran a hand down Silver’s side, finding grip over the swell of his ass. “What do you want?” he said, nipping at the vee of Silver’s hips, kissing where hip dipped into thigh and then biting there just enough to mark, soothing over the injury with his tongue. Silver’s hand cupped the crown of his head as he groaned and Flint could feel him trembling. “I won’t know unless you tell me,” Flint said.

Silver laughed and the sound turned low, almost strangled as Flint groped him in earnest, his fingers dipping teasingly into the crevice of his ass, just barely spreading him open. “James, _please_ -”

He looked up to Silver. He watched as he worried at his bottom lip, the light catching at the dampness there. Silver’s other hand, once gripping at the bedding tight enough to render knuckles white, groped blindly under the pillow, reemerging with a small glass vial. “You want me inside you?” Flint asked, dipping further in, thumbing at Silver’s entrance. “You want me to bend you over and fuck you?”

“Yes,” Silver said. “Please, yes.”

“Then I want to hear you say so.”

Silver’s eyes widened, his whole body shuddering as Flint pressed into him with more intent, not breaching him like this, still dry and unprepared, but working him up into a harsher desperation. With the hand that wasn’t on Silver, Flint reached to take the small bottle from Silver’s shaking grip and then paused. Waiting.

“Fuck me,” Silver said with a labored inhale. His eyes fluttered shut as Flint unhanded him and sat up, pouring a generous spill of oil onto his palm and then dispersing it between his hands, all over his fingers. Flint then took Silver by the jut of his hips, tugging him down roughly, before groping him with both hands, spreading him open. “God, please fuck me. I need this, need _you-_ I need you to fuck me so hard I feel it tomorrow, want to never forget what you feel like, _please_.”

Flint slid his wet fingers down the cleft of Silver’s ass, tracing up and down with antagonizing laziness before pausing where Silver wanted him, enjoying as Silver buckled and tried to thrust down helplessly. Slowly, slowly, he pushed an index finger in. “Look at you,” Flint said. “All desperate to be filled- fucking breathless for it. Has anyone else ever seen you like this, begging to be fucked?”

Silver shook his head, swallowing audibly and then making a small, broken sound as Flint worked his hand into a steady motion, a second finger joining the former to breach where Silver was beginning to give more and more. “Just you,” Silver sighed, shaking his head frantically. He tried to press down, tried to thrust into Flint’s hand and take him deeper, but Flint’s free hand anchored over his stomach, taut with tension. “You’re the only who makes me this way- oh, fuck, it’s just you, it’s only you.”

Flint worked at him steadily until two fingers became three and then four. Silver wasn’t just yielding easily, he was doing so _loudly_ , completely unabashed in the pleasure of it all: saying Flint’s name like a prayer, his voice stuttering over supplications of _please_ , _please_ , sighing as Flint drew him open and fucked into him and found the bundle of nerves that sparked stars behind Silver’s tightly clamped eyes.

Then, so that this wouldn’t end before it had truly begun, Flint drew his fingers out of him without warning and took hold of Silver’s cock, instead. “You’re so good this way, John,” Flint spoke, swiping his thumb over the bead of slickness at the tip. “Dripping for me, crying for this. You’re going to feel amazing for me, aren’t you? Just for me?”

Silver practically sobbed, arching his hips only to be pushed back down. “James,” he gasped. “Please, come on.”

  
He groaned when Flint unhanded him, throwing his head back against the pillow and shuddering all over. Flint hushed him affectionately, giving the hard length of his cock a smooth tug before lining himself against Silver’s entrance and pressing in. For all their prep, he still felt impossibly tight, unbearably hot, and it was a wonder to watch Silver take him, his mouth open with a soundless moan, his eyes clamped, his eyelashes damp with tears. Flint cursed as he worked in and out of him slowly. Flint leaned forward from where he was kneeling between Silver’s parted thighs, pushing deeper into him as he bent to kiss the hot skin of Silver’s stomach, damp with sweat.  

They sounded in unison when Flint bottomed out inside him, stretching Silver wide in slow and steady thrusts that began to hasten to a quick, anxious rhythm. Distantly, Flint registered all the noise in the room- the slap of skin meeting skin with a staccatoed force, the weak, breathless sounds that were slipping out of both of them now as Flint fucked into him with unapologetic force.

“Harder,” Silver begged hoarsely. He gripped at the sheets beneath him, his knuckles white with force as his breath was pushed out of him with every snap of Flint’s thrusts. He tried to spread his legs wider and meet Flint’s every move to take him deeper. “God, I want all of you- want you harder. You feel so good like this, I just need it harder, _please._ ”

Without as much as a word of warning, Flint pulled out of Silver entirely. He gasped, as if the air had been knocked right out of his lungs, but before Silver could speak, Flint gripped him roughly, flipping him off his back and onto his stomach. They couldn’t maintain this position for very long with Silver’s disability, but Flint knew they wouldn’t last very much longer. He ran his hands down Silver’s sides, his fingers curling so that his nails could scratch him in a long, hot skim, and then he took grip of Silver’s hips and pulled up.

“You’re mine,” Flint said, pressing his cock into Silver again. He drank in the image of Silver taking him on his knees: the slope of Silver’s back as it arched, the tremble of Silver’s forearms as he held himself up, the swell of his ass as Flint fucked him, driving into him quick, hard enough to hurt. “Fuck, John, you’re mine. I need you to know who you belong to- need you to know that _I’m_ the one who does this to you. _I’m_ the one who pushes you this far, gets you this fucking good. No one else.”

“I know,” Silver spoke. His voice was coming out in a desperate rasp but he was being so loud. Distantly, Flint remembered Madi’s house on the hill beside Silver’s own and half-wondered, through the hot, half-lidded haze of their fucking where she was, what she was doing, what she was hearing even now. “I belong to you,” Silver continued. “I’m yours, James, I’m all yours. You’re so fucking good to me, I- oh fuck, I love this, love you-”

Flint fucked into him pointedly, rocking Silver forward with a violent jolt and Silver let out a broken sound, something like a sob. He wasn’t pushing back against Flint now. He was just letting himself be _taken_ , taking everything that Flint was giving him, trembling as Flint fucked him roughly. Silver keened at every push and pull of their joined bodies, his sobs half-muffled as he dropped into the mattress, his face pressed against the mattress.

They began to lose rhythm, edging together to release. It was all so much more than Flint could register. It was the fixed, hot clench of Silver around his length, it was each of the wrecked, awed sounds spilling from his mouth. It was his words, still spilling over like a rush of water as Silver cried his name over and over again. Flint slipped his hand down one of Silver’s hips, taking hold of his cock, hard and wet, before jerking him off once, twice, thrice. Pleasure swept over John Silver in a shudder, his body rippling at he moaned and came, smearing ropes of slick white all over Flint’s hand.

“Inside me,” Silver said, his voice unsteady and weak as Flint continued to slam into him hard. “Just like that, I want you come inside me, _please_.” 

It was as simple as that. They both cried out when Flint came, his thighs clenching, his voice hitched into a sharp, high sound as he pressed into Silver one last time and took a fistful of his hair in the same stroke, giving it a tug. Silver moaned as if he were the one spilling out, as if the pulse and release of Flint’s cock inside him was _his_ pleasure and he fell into the mattress weakly, his strength giving out with a wordless sob. After what felt like a small forever, Flint ran his left hand down the dip of Silver’s back and then over his ass, caressing him there soothingly when Silver winced as Flint slowly pulled out of him. Then they rolled together over the bed, shifting so that they were lying in each other’s arms- spent and rendered soft, their breaths coming out in harsh rasps as they caught their breath.

“James,” Silver sighed, sounding dazed. He framed Flint’s face with his hands and pulled him forward, kissing him deeply. Flint stilled at the touch of Silver’s lips over his own, softer and gentler than Flint knew what to do with. They kissed and kissed, slow and idle, and Silver’s hands ran over Flint’s spent flesh, rubbing lazy circles into the broad expanse of his back, the muscle and crook of his shoulders.

Silver was the one to break the kiss, too, turning his face from Flint and then resting his head against his shoulder. “I love you,” Silver said, nuzzling Flint’s neck and then parting his mouth there, kissing him, sucking a bruise over the skin. “James, you don’t have to fight to keep me. I’m yours. No one is going to take you from me. Nothing is going to divide us. I _need_ you.”

Flint nodded, swallowing thickly. He wanted to return those words. He wanted to tell Silver that he loved him more than he could bear, more than he had ever loved _anyone_ in his life and it terrified him. He wanted to tell Silver that he terrified him, that Flint hadn’t meant to, but he had given Silver his heart to hold and was frightened for its keeping. But no words came out. No words could.

When Flint pulled away just enough to look at him, the warmth and the sadness in Silver’s face revealed the love he spoke of and it made Flint ache all over, it made him hurt. “I’m sorry,” Silver spoke and he didn’t say what he was apologizing for, but it settled unsaid between them all the same. “But I need you more than I can bear and that won’t ever change. It can’t. I don’t want it to.”

“I don’t want that either,” Flint whispered. He clenched his jaw, feeling a knot rise in his throat, and closed his eyes.

“If we both want this, we’ll have it. I’ll be yours as you’ll be mine,” Silver said, cupping Flint’s face in his palm and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “The world will change to our accord, as it always has.”

Silence stretched between them like a promise and Flint soaked in every one of Silver’s touches, every cling of his body, every one of his gentle kisses. “Stay,” Silver eventually told him, his voice thick with exhaustion. “If you want to, stay here with me.”

It felt like they were treading along the line of indulgence now. Not just because they had exhausted themselves and enjoyed one another- not just because Silver had told him that he loved and needed him or regarded him with a gaze that read into Flint and remedied all of his silences with an intimate understanding. But it was sweet to lie together, it was a pleasure to feel that the constant pace of life had stuttered and lulled between them, so that everything was quiet and still, and nothing existed outside of their embrace. It was sweeter still for Flint to look over Silver’s body and see where he was marked by what they had done, scratches and love-bites and bruises that would linger on his skin as evidence of what they'd done, fading in time for Flint to mark him all over again.

Eventually, the caress of Silver’s hands over Flint’s back slowed to a stop. Flint could feel the steady pace of Silver’s breathing as he had fallen asleep and he ran his hand through Silver’s hair all the same, kissing his forehead gratefully. Somewhere in the room, a candle had reached the end of its wick and the fire expired, dipping their room into the darkness. Sleep took Flint as he breathed in the light that went out, a curling wisp of smoke dispersing softly in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> I was, admittedly, nervous about sharing this story. Perhaps, true to the spirit of Black Sails, the moral compass that John and James follow seems slightly askew. I adore Madi and love the idea of these three enjoying a battle-forged love together, but I was also really interested in what a more tense, distrust-worthy dynamic would look like if Silver found himself torn between two people who could not love each other as they loved him. I hope you enjoyed this mess, reader. 
> 
> Jackie - this fic was a gift to you and it, as most things with me do, spiraled out of my original conception and took an absurd amount of time to finish. But, my hope is that you enjoyed this. Thank you for filling these past few months we've known each other with happiness, humor, and a shared fanaticism for these horrible, no-good pirates. Your friendship means the world to me!
> 
>  
> 
> [You can find me on tumblr!](marsza.tumblr.com)


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